


You are the trouble I'm in

by tsundanire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Frotting, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Jumpers, Leather Jackets, M/M, Mild Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Sharing Clothes, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 11:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17487296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsundanire/pseuds/tsundanire
Summary: Draco lends Harry a jumper... and then deeply regrets it.





	You are the trouble I'm in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistyDeath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyDeath/gifts).



> For the immaculate, incredible, absolutely amazing @slashfoxes on your birthday. <3 <3 Thanks to @olliemaye for the amazing beta, and to @nifflers-n-nargles for the cheerleading and constant hand holding :D

  


It started with a jumper.

If Draco were to trace everything back to one moment, it had to have been that stupid jumper. Although returning for his eighth year had a large hand in it, and being paired with the Boy Who Lived for rooms was another explanation, Draco felt certain in his assessment that his was fucked the second Harry told him he was cold, and Draco let him borrow his favourite jumper. 

It was merino wool, in the most stunning shade of emerald green, and given as a gift from his mother on becoming a Slytherin prefect a few years before. It hardly fit him now, as he had filled out a bit more in the shoulders and arms, but he kept it because he could feel his mother’s love for him in every fibre. But as Harry slipped the fabric over his head, Draco gulped in horrified desire.

Harry awkwardly scratched at his head, messing about with the fringe covering his scar, sporting the most adorably pink cheeks, and all Draco could do was stammer out something about the fibres being less than twelve microns, while trying to will away the aggressively growing erection down below.

“A-are you sure you don’t mind? I mean, it’s… It’s really nice Draco.” Harry looked a little awkward, and Draco wondered, for a moment, if this was the nicest piece of fabric to ever have covered his body. Again, a shudder ran down his spine at the thought that this was Draco’s sweater now warming his roommate.

“Honestly, Potter, it’s fine. Besides, that hasn’t fit me for a few years now so might as well get some use for someone else I suppose.” Draco shrugged, playing it off as some extraneous piece of clothing from his collection.

“Well, then thanks.” Harry beamed, still palming the fabric covering his arms and chest.

That was just the beginning of, what Draco lovingly refers to as, Hell.

It started with the one time, but just when Draco let his guard down, Harry would show up wearing the jumper as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. As if wearing it didn’t make him look absolutely ravishing. As if wearing it wasn’t the highlight of Draco’s absolutely shitty day.

As if wearing it didn’t make Draco hard as a rock in seconds flat.

But it didn’t stop with the jumper. In fact, as they were about to depart on a group trip to Hogsmeade, Draco watched as Harry fussed with a ratty looking shirt. Draco frowned and dug through his wardrobe until he found a button-up he was rather fond of. It was a plain black, and the fit was meant more for Draco’s body, but he tossed it over to Harry all the same.

“Here. Try this instead.”

“What?” 

“You look like someone who dressed himself in the dark. Specifically with something made for cleaning floors or wiping windows.”

“Are you saying I’m wearing rags?” Harry asked, affronted.

Draco smirked.

“Just try the damned shirt. Merlin’s sake.” Draco shook his head as he turned around, trying to hide his pink cheeks while Harry whipped off his clothing. “You’d think I was asking you to take your O.W.L.s again or something.”

“I’m just surprised you’re willing to part with your clothes so easily.” Harry’s voice came muffled then, likely spoken from beneath Draco’s shirt.

“It’s not a matter of willingness. You were wearing something horrendous, I had to step in. That’s what friends do after all.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest, puffing up defensively.

“Friends?” Harry’s voice came from right behind him, close enough that his breath ghosted lightly over Draco’s ear. “Is that what we are?”

Draco’s whole body froze in place, a shiver of something running down his spine. But when he whipped around, Harry was already out the door.

“Oi! You didn’t even show me how it looks!!” Draco griped, quickly grabbing his own coat and sweater, then heading out.

 

~+~  


“I’ll get the drinks, yeah? You go find a table that’s big enough.” Draco waved Harry off, and proceeded to the bar to get the usuals. The tinkling sound of the bell over the door signaled the arrival of a few more of their friends, likely heading over to join Harry at their table.

When the bartender filled his hands with four mugs of frothy butterbeer, Draco did his best to grasp two handles in each hand, then turned to walk back to their table. Ron and Hermione were already seated in the booth beside Harry, which mean Draco was forced to take up the spot right beside the boy who lived.

 _Clank!_ Draco placed the mugs down on the table, nodding as everyone thanked him, while trying to ignore the heat radiating from Harry’s form, when he sat down.

“Oh! Before we head back, I have to stop at the… You know…” Harry gave Ron and Hermione a pointed look, which they seemed to understand without him even finishing the sentence. Draco, of course, hated feeling left out and immediately threw himself into the conversation. 

“Where are we going?”

Hermione looked like she saw right through him, though at least she wasn’t calling him out. Ron was too focused on his drink, which left Harry awkwardly scratching at his neck.

“It’s… kinda complicated? Don’t worry about it though. I’ll be super fast and will meet you back at the castle.” Harry shot him a half-smile, but Draco felt like he was being firmly uninvited.

He lasted thirty minutes before the frustration really kicked in, ruining what was supposed to be a nice afternoon out. Harry must have sensed the sudden shift in energy, because he leaned into Draco’s side, when Ron and Hermione were distracted, and placed a hand on Draco’s knee.

“Is everything okay? You seem a little… off.” Harry tilted his head, eyes seemingly concerned with the blond’s wellbeing. Draco sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn’t Harry’s fault that Draco didn’t like feeling like he was on the outside of things looking in. Harry had things that were allowed to be private, that he didn’t have to share. But the reaction had been involuntary, built over years of watching the three best friends, and wishing desperately to be included in their childish fun. Of course, he knew now that it hadn’t all been fun and games, but more doing everything they could to consistently escape the clutches of Death.

“It’s nothing.” Draco tried to get his mouth to form some semblance of a smile, but it was half-hearted at best, and he knew Harry would see right through the imperfect illusion.

“Here, budge over.” Harry grabbed his bag and made to get out of the booth. “Ron, ‘Mione, you guys can stay for a bit. We’ll just meet you back at the castle.”

Ron looked a bit confused, and perhaps a bit put out, at Harry’s sudden departure. There was momentary silence as some sort of unspoken argument seemed to erupt between Ron and his two friends, but whatever it was, he lost and sat subdued in the corner of the booth, while Hermione offered a kind smile to him.

“We’ll see you later, boys.”

Draco tried not to think too hard about what that was all about, knowing it would only end in a headache for himself.

They stepped out into the snow, the crunching beneath their boots the only sound between them for a while. Just as Draco was about to ask where they were going, his eyes alighted on the cabin at the end of the road. _The Shrieking Shack._  

“Wait, w-we’re actually going in there?” Draco hesitated, but Harry threw him a cheeky grin and creaked open the gate, holding it open for Draco to walk through.

The closer they got to the shack, the more sombre Harry seemed to get.

“Do you know what today’s date is?”

“Third of November... I think?”

Harry nodded, walking into the shack like it wasn’t the most terrifying place, or that it wasn’t haunted at all, or other such rumours. But when Draco entered, it looked as if someone had spent a lot of time here...recently in fact. Draco tilted his head, and watched the familiarity with which Harry moved around the home, lighting candles and making his way up the stairs. Why he didn’t just cast a Lumos charm was beyond Draco.

“My Godfather was Sirius Black. Today would have been his birthday.” Harry’s voice seemed almost clinically detached. They settled on a fresh blanket that Harry pulled out of his bag, having laid it flat across the floor of one of the bedrooms. The room itself was a dusty disaster straight out of a House Elf’s worst nightmare, the kind of place where Draco didn’t want to take too deep of a breath in, since half the air was likely dust.

“Every year I get older, I hit an age one of my family didn’t reach. For my parents, that’s this year. I still have a few years to go to catch up with Sirius but… He spent twelve years in Azkaban… When he came out, I don’t think he ever really recovered from what had happened.”

Draco nodded cautiously with Harry’s story, not pushing for more, but strangely excited for more insight into his newest friend.

“This place… This was where I met him for the first time. Where it all began for me, I guess. Back then, I was blinded by my desperation for a real family. For someone who truly loved me and wanted to take care of me. When Sirius offered me that… I never noticed how haunted he looked, or how much pain he was really in. Not until it was too late.” Harry looked away, putting his hand in the bag and pulled out what Draco could only assume was a muggle leather jacket. 

He’d seen them before, but had it beaten into his brain that they were atrocities. And yet this jacket was something of a marvel to Draco—maybe because he’d never been allowed to be this close to one, let alone touch it. There must have been something in his expression because Harry’s eyes softened and he passed the jacket over, allowing Draco’s hands to delicately pass over the supple fabric. There were silver buckles in some places, and colourful patches that meant absolutely nothing to Draco. But then again, as much as Black had been a relative, Draco knew practically nothing about him, aside his blood-traitor status.

“Harry this is…” Draco started to say _beautiful_ but, looking up, it was clear there was only one thing in the room that truly deserved that title. Harry, sitting there in Draco’s clothing, green eyes almost glowing in the dim light of the shack, and filled with some unnamed emotion.

“You said my name.” Harry spoke in a hushed voice, not willing to break the feeling of whatever it was building up between them right now.

Before he could stop himself from even considering it a bad idea, Draco reached out and slid his index finger along Harry’s jaw, moving it slowly beneath his chin, and then lifting it up ever so slightly.  

“Harry… ” Draco said again, but softly, reverently, as if the one word could contain all of his growing feelings like a wall before the tide. Eventually the wall crumbled beneath the surge of Harry’s lips against his and they crashed together, inevitably drawn toward one another since before either of them could remember. 

Draco moved the jacket out of his lap, moving to his knees and almost crawling atop Harry in his need. His hands cupped Harry’s cheeks, bringing him deeper into their kiss; their tongues met through  the fleshy barriers and slowly curled together in some kind of intimate mimicry of what was to come. Harry’s hands tangled in Draco’s hair for a moment, before trailing lower over his firm chest, slipping beneath the fabric to pinch and scratch at any skin he could reach.

As their bodies’ needs began to take over, their kiss grew in desperation, breaths turning to pants as they tried to remove each other’s clothing. When Harry finally tried to undo the buttons of the shirt Draco had lent him, a hand firmly stopped him.

“No, stop. Don’t take it off.” Draco’s voice had deepened over the course of their kiss, as if gravel or something thick was stuck in the back and he couldn’t clear it.

“Wha- why not?” Harry sounded like he was trying to think beyond the fog but was having some difficulty. His glasses were strewn aside along with the rest of his clothes, so Draco’s expression was fairly imperceptible to him at the moment.

“Seeing you in my clothing… it’s—” Draco cleared his throat. “It’s incredibly arousing.”

Harry laughed and pulled Draco down into another kiss. It was soft and sweet, and filled with the kind of longing that had been built up over time. Perhaps Draco hadn’t been the only one pining after all. 

Draco’s hand slid down Harry’s flat chest, gently caressing his way across the expanse of flesh until the tips of his fingers eventually hovered just above the place Harry wanted most wanted  to be touched. The edges of a smile touched his lips as he felt Harry squirm beneath him, but he continued to tease.

“Draco, please…” Harry whined, hips bucking up just enough for the tip of his cock to graze against Draco’s palm. The blond was weak for Harry, and it was clear they both knew it. So giving in at the same time, Harry sat up and reached out to palm Draco as Draco grasped him.

They both took a few minutes to carefully explore the new warmth in their hands, so similar and yet so different from their own. Feeling Harry’s gentle but insistent touch on him made it it hard for Draco to focus on anything. Raising a brow, Draco shifted their bodies until Harry was fully seated in his lap. Bringing his palm up to Harry’s mouth, Draco demanded he spit. Harry filled Draco’s hand with the very fluid about to be used as lubricant between them.

Draco shifted enough so that he could line both their cocks together with one palm, then slowly struck a steady rhythm that had Harry shivering above him. 

“Fuck Harry, you are fucking gorgeous.” Draco hadn’t meant to even say it out loud, but the thick blush that covered Harry’s cheeks was completely worth it. For a moment, Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, as if overwhelmed by the sensation of being wanked against another cock, which Draco had to agree was absolute heaven.

Harry’s lips parted, soft sounds of pleasure escaping him while he panted eagerly for more. Draco could hardly stand it, his pleasure becoming apparent in the globs of sticky fluid drooling out of the tip of his cock and pouring down the sides of both of them. Maybe it was the feel of how much Draco was enjoying himself, or maybe it was just starting to feel really good, whatever the reason—Harry’s deep groan wrapped around Draco like the warmest blanket, revitalising him in ways he was only just beginning to understand.

“Oh, Harry…” Draco murmured, leaning in to place a line of soft kisses up Harry’s throat, and across his jaw. His hand continued stroking both their cocks firmly, but increased the pace and flicked his wrist over the leaking tips, and the closer they got the more they shifted and twitched, which had the effect of rubbing the sensitive undersides against each other. Harry reacted perfectly to each kiss, melting into Draco with each press of his lips against his skin, until they were kissing once more. Harry started to thrust into Draco’s grip and was getting desperately close, if his low-pitched grunts were any sign.

“Come for me Harry… Show me how beautiful you look when you come,” Draco murmured against the skin of Harry’s neck. He pulled back to watch with growing pleasure as Harry arched his back, cock straining as it shot against both their chests and into Draco’s hand.

“Ah! Ah! F-fuck Draco, yes! Keep going—fucking hell—don’t stop—That feels so fucking good.” Harry’s sobs were like the most stunning chorus, bringing Draco ever closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Harry. Fuck. Fuck. Gonna—Gonna—” Draco bit down on his lower lip, grinding himself against Harry with wild abandon, as he too came with the same fierce intensity as Harry had.

As they slowed, and the energy simmered between them, going from roaring fire to smouldering embers, Draco worried for a moment that they might feel some regret, but if anything it almost felt like… relief.

It wouldn’t be easy, because nothing ever was. But moments like this made it all worth it.

Or at least moments like later that week, when Harry walked into their shared dorm room, and saw Draco sitting on his bed in a pair of tight black trousers and Sirius’ old leather jacket.

  
  
END


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